There's A Reason You're Here
by Hey-Fay
Summary: Will contain violent/abusive chapter s in the future. You have been warned.
1. Chapter 1

Every day at three she would message you, just like clockwork. You don't know why she did it, but she did. It had started over a sweep ago, she randomly sent you an I.M on Trollian and just like that a friendship of sorts had blossomed. She mostly talked to you about your health; have you been eating, did you shower today, are you wearing clean clothes? It never failed to put a small sad smile on your face. At least someone cared about you. You lied most of the time, too cowardly to tell her no you haven't been eating, you've been wearing the same clothes for the past four days and you don't have the strength to bathe. There were other things you couldn't tell her too. Like the fact your arms were littered with shallow cuts and last night you went too deep and panicked. You shake your head in silent defeat, the one thing you wanted was death and you were too much of a coward to kill yourself; but all that would change today.

You look up at your husktop and read her newest message; it brings tears to your eyes.

gG: Eridan, things might look glum right now, but it will get better! Don't give up, OK? Because there is still something worth fighting for!

Your heart is heavy and dark as you lie and tell her what she wants to hear. She reminds you so much of Fef. You look at the clock on the wall and sigh; it's nearing the hour of your demise and you need to get ready. You tell her you're expecting a guest and she tells you that's great; only it isn't. She tells you she'll message you tomorrow and you log off with moist eyes. She'll get over you, and no one else will care.

You sit at your desk, head in your hands. Regret is gnawing at your beat pump but it's too late to stop the domino effect that you so desperately put in motion. You shove back from your desk and stand. You're wobbly and weak from hunger but lately it just makes your stomach cramp painfully when you eat, so you quit eating. You take careful steps to your wardrobifier and open it. You want to be the one that dresses you in your funeral attire, not the machine. The mirror hanging on the inside of the door reflects back the image of a pitifully thin troll of nine sweeps. There are black circles under your purple eyes and your hair hangs in limp, greasy strands to your shoulders. Your cheeks are hollow, making your cheekbones protrude.

You avert your eyes from your image, self-loathing welling up inside your chest and leaving an acidic taste in your mouth. You start to strip, peeling the soiled clothing off and letting it fall to the ground unceremoniously. Your seeing orbs flicker back to the mirror and the image looking back at you is pathetic. Ribs and hips are clearly defined; you have no muscle mass like you did when you were a wriggler. Your bones jut out at sharp angles and the gills on your neck and sides look like royal purple gashes against your ashen skin. You finger the raised scar that runs 'round your abdomen; when they brought you back it was there and its never left. It's just another reminder of what you did to your friends and how you got what was coming to you.

You swallow thickly and reach into the clothing receptacle with trembling hands. You withdraw a plain black long-sleeved shirt with your symbol on it and weakly pull it over your head; no need for Sol to see your cuts. Next comes a comfortable pair of black jeans, there isn't any need for the striped ones; this affair isn't for fashion. You do decide to wear your scarf; you're cold often and today is no exception. You decide the cape is too much, and so are your rings so you leave them.

You carefully wobble to the hygeinblock, trying not to trip over your own feet. You pick up the comb on the sink and slick your hair back. The purple streak has grown out and is showing black roots but you can't find the energy to care. You take a long look at yourself. You're exhausted; worn down to the bone and your clothes sag off your frame. You don't know why the others brought you back; Fef wants nothing to do with you and the others could care less about you, Jade being the odd exception. The one consistency is that Sol still hates you, and not in a blackrom sort of way.

It's that hatred that you're relying on now. It was easy to push him over the edge, just say a few things that you didn't really mean and he's fuming. You shake your head in disgust; you can't off yourself so you have someone else do it for you. Pathetic. But it doesn't matter, just so long as he gets the job done. The world will be better off without you. You exit the hygeinblock, there's one last piece missing from your outfit. You start the laborious walk up the stairs, desperate to reach your respiteblock before your executioner arrives.

You grab a shitty wand from the pile and sigh. That was it, your set is complete. You have no intention of going into this duel with a real weapon. Your hive rumbles and a loud boom echoes off the walls, shaking photos off the walls and knickknacks off shelves. You hear glass splinter and then his lisping voice shout out an insult for you. He's here.

An old sneer forms on your lips as you march down the stairs, down to your doom. No matter how long it's been he still gets under your skin just as much as you get under his. He has blown a hole in your home, the wall and part of the floor reduced to rubble and he's levitating right at the edge of the opening. You can smell the charge in the air. No words are said and the next moment happens in slow-motion.

You snarl and raise your shitty wand and he reacts just like you wanted. An electric current hits your chest and runs through your body like lightning. You think you scream but you can't be sure. It hurts, it feels like every inch of you is on fire and your knees give out so you convulse on the floor. Your last thought is of Jade, then nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

You wake up and your head pounds, sharp pain lances through your skull and down your spine to branch out throughout your body. This isn't what you expected; you're supposed to be dead. A whimper escapes your lips and you blink several times trying to clear your blurry sight but to no avail, your glasses aren't on and you're blind. You wiggle around and panic sets in as you realize your arms are bound behind you and you're in a chair.

"So, you're finally awake are you fish fuck?" You turn your head towards his voice, partly because it's so close and partly because you can't believe you're not dead.

You open your mouth to answer but a hard slap snaps your head to the side. Bright pain blossoms across your cheek and behind your eyes and you cough out a cry of surprise.

"You shut up; you can speak when I say you can." Your tongue darts out to probe at your lip and you taste blood. Your mind is whirling and your body aches but you stay quiet, fearing you'll be hit again.

"You insult me, say that you'd kill ff again and slaughter everyone else that gets in your way-", his voice is rising in pitch and before you know it your head is whipped sideways again as a loud crack echoes around the room and yet again burning pain ripples across your face, "but all I see is a pathetic fucking troll who has a death wish. "

His voice trembles with anger and your beat pump races; you didn't expect him to draw your death out like this, you expected it to be a quick blast and painless.

"I get it, I do. You're so damn desperate to fill your fucking quadrants you lure me out here-. "

He stops and chuckles and your blood's like ice in your veins as you listen to him get everything all wrong. It wasn't about filling quadrants! Your beat bladder is hammering so hard in your hear tunnels you can't hear the rest of his lisping rant. You're panicking and before you think you blurt out that that's not what you wanted at all!

It gets you punched. Lights burst before your eyes as he slammed his fist into your jaw and tears are streaming down your face. He's snarling at you, spittle spraying your abused mug and his voice making your head ring. You can feel your lips swelling and blood dribble down your chin but you're helpless to do anything about it. He grabs the ends of your scarf and pulls it choking tight around your neck, forcing the gills there to still.

"You want a kismesis, you've fuckin got one." His lips are on yours in an instant and your heart stops, eyes wide with shock and horror as he kisses you with violent passion. This was the blackest kiss you've ever received and you bite him, trying to get away. He snarls and thumps the back of your head, making your think pan rattle. You do not want this. You resist, squirming side to side and twisting your face away from his lips. He retaliates and grabs ahold of your fins, ripping your mouth back to his.

He's practically sitting in your lap, still hate kissing you as psionic energy crackles around you both. It's a show of dominance and you are clearly the subordinate in this situation. He bites your already busted lip then stands and you can't help the whimper that quietly slips past your lips. He takes the noise as wanting more and through the blur in your vision you can see a wicked grin forming on his purple smeared lips.

He grabs a handful of your hair and wretches you forward, pulling you out of the chair and pitching you into the floor. Your chest breaks the fall and the air in your lungs rushes out in a 'whuff'.

"Sol please-." He kicks you square in the ribs before you can finish your feeble plea.

"I told you," he kicks you again, "not to fucking talk!"

You're desperately trying to catch your breath as he rolls you over onto your back. It feels like your ribs are broken. His hands are everywhere and you can't get enough air to stop him. You cough painfully and cry out when he goes for your pants. He's laughing like it's a game and tears them off your skinny hips. Now you really struggle, panic eating its way through you as you kick out at him. You manage to knee him in the gut, a lucky shot, and roll to your stomach while he rasps for air. You wiggle a few feet away from him before he's on you again, fists pummeling your bony frame with no remorse. He jerks your pants the rest of the way off and grabs your ankle, dragging you back to him. You're crying, silent tears running purple down your cheeks as you cough for oxygen. You hear his zipper being undone and icy terror clutches your heart.

_No no no! Not this, please not this!_

He grabs your hips and forces your knees under you, spreading your legs as he goes. Your shirt is riding up as you try to scoot away from him, gills exposed and he takes the opportunity to sink sharp clawed fingers into the openings on your sides. You gasp and cough at the same time, crying out as he digs his nails into the fleshy filters and pulls you back flush against him. You feel him position himself behind you and he giggles like a wriggler at play. Then he presses against you and you freeze, fear paralyzing you.

One hard thrust and he's in and you let out a scream. He's not gentle in the least and each thrust is more painful than the last. You're full out sobbing now, tears and snot being ground into the carpet along with your face with each stab. Your arms ache from being bound behind you and your lower back feels like it's on fire. He's speeding up, his hips hitting yours hard and the slap is echoing off the walls. You can hear him grunting and panting, with little moans mixed in with them, behind you. His nails are driven into your hip and thigh, pulling you backwards onto him as he pushes into you.

You're starting to feel sick, nausea churning in your empty stomach like raging waves in the sea. You gag but nothing comes out. He lets out a moan and distantly you know what it means. He thrusts in once more, harder this time than any of the lasts and you feel his bulge twitch inside you. Your stomach clenches painfully and you know you're going to vomit. You try to stop it but you can't, he's used you like a bucket and you are going to hurl. He pulls out just as you expel the acidic contents of your stomach.

"Fucking gross." He mutters and scoots away from you. You crumple in on yourself, body shuddering and soul numb. He wipes himself off on your discarded pants, a look of disgust painted on his face. He says something else but your too shell shocked to hear it. You can't believe what just happened and denial is sinking firm roots in your mind.

You distantly hear him walk away, leaving you alone with yourself. You let out a pent up sob, this didn't go how you wanted at all.


	3. Chapter 3

gG: so how was your visitor?

gG: eridan?

gG: hello?

gG: if you don't answer im coming over.

gG: eridan really this isn't funny; please answer me!

gG: alright. im coming over.

You log off Pesterchum, worry eating away at your chest. He's never not answered you before and you can't help feeling that something's terribly wrong. With a small sigh you push away from your computer and stand. The ears on your head are laid flat as the anxiety in your heart grows. You hope he's OK.

You've never been to his house but you know what the inside of his room looks like due to all the video chats the two of you have had over the past four years. Your heart sinks; here lately he refused to video chat with you and you think you know why. The last time you actually saw him he looked thin, that's why you always ask if he's been eating. You have a feeling he lies to you most of the time, but you prefer to believe him. You mentally prepare yourself for the jump your about to make; teleporting always makes your stomach flip flop uncomfortably and gives your head a rush.

Bringing up the image of his room in your mind's eye you take a deep breath and fling yourself towards it.

Seconds feel like hours but eventually there's stable ground under your feet again. You let out a pent up breath and put a hand on your head as the room tilts and spins for a moment. You feel queasy for a brief period but it's fast to fade. Your head stops spinning and you look around. Unease instantly flares back up again as you notice the room in shambles. Things are strewn around the room; knickknacks and shelves knocked from the walls, a mirror's splintered with its glittering guts lying dangerously on the floor around it. You spot an open door and without too much hesitation you walk out of it. It leads to a set of stairs and when you get half way down them you let out a gasp. A huge hole has been torn out of the side of his hive, letting the waves from the sea spray foam and water into the opening.

You reach the bottom and feel a crunch underfoot. You've stepped on one of his wands. Your heart thuds thickly in your chest as you spot his glasses not far from your foot as well. You pick them up, holding them gingerly in your palm. You move through the room quickly, your heart pounding urgency through your veins.

The next room is his living room. It's dark and you can just barely make out the shapes of couches and chairs. You grope blindly at the wall for a switch and sigh with relief when you find one. You flip the switch and blink as cold light floods the room. You scan the space in front of you and your heart leaps to your throat as you spy one bare grey leg lying behind the couch, a toppled kitchen chair a few feet behind it.

You call out to him softly, hesitation making your voice shaky and your feet slow to movement. He doesn't answer and panic starts to build, causing your breath to come in quivering pants. You take one, two, three steps towards him and let out a hushed _oh my God_. You're by his side in an instant as soon as you see his rag doll form lying crumpled on the dirty carpet.

He's naked from the waist down, pants thrown carelessly across the room. There's blood, and a lot of it, caked to the back of his legs and inner thighs and still dribbling out of his wounded gills. He has welts and scratches littering his back and thighs and there's dried yellow splattered on his lower back and legs. His arms are bound behind him with what looks like torn strips of cloth and it's cutting into his writs, making his hands almost white from blood loss. His breathing is shallow and ragged and his face is pressed into the floor.

You're on your knees beside him, hands trembling as they grasp his shoulder to roll him over. His face is a mess of swollen and bruised flesh; his lips busted and blackish purple marks paint his features an ugly picture. His eyes are closed; one swelled shut.

Tears began to prick your eyes as you gently let him fall back to his original position. You sniff and whisper a small apology before going to work on the knots around his wrists.

It takes a good twenty minutes but you eventually get the wretched bindings off and his arms fall stiffly to the ground. This causes him to stir and a slow moan slips out past his battered lips. Your ears perk up at the broken sound and you gently roll him over to his back.

"Eridan?" you whisper. He whimpers and cracks one eye open but the gaze is unfocused. He coughs and moans and you have one of his hands, offering comfort. He cries out and feebly pulls his hand out of your grip. You realize he's trying to get away and you frantically tell him that it's you. He seems to calm down at that and you gently brush a strand of greasy hair out of his face. Tears are rolling freely down your cheeks as he looks towards you and whispers your name.

"Yeah it's me, I'm here. It's OK." You're murmuring to him while softly petting his cheek.

"Why are you here?" He whispers through split lips, voice hoarse and pain laced.

His question takes you aback and for a small moment you don't know what to say; then your wits catch up to your mouth and you reply "Because you never answered your Pesterchum. I got worried…" you pause to wipe away snot and tears, "…it's a good thing I did come too, you're a mess. I was afraid there for a minute you were dead-"

"I wanted to die!" He coughs out weakly cutting you off, tears burning clean streaks down his blood crusted face. His exclamation causes your heart to jolt painfully in your chest and you struggle to form the words to ask why.

"I wanted to die and he didn't do it!" He's full out sobbing now and all you can do is sit there in shock as the reality of what he just said sinks in. You can't find the words to ask who was supposed to kill off your friend and he's managed to wrap his arms around himself and curl into a ball as he cries.

You find yourself scooping your arms under his fragile frame and pulling him into your lap, your lips placing small kisses on his grimy hair as you rock him back and forth. You don't know what to say to him; you know what happened by what you've seen but you don't know why or how it happened. And honestly you're not sure if you want to know right now.

"I'm going to take you someplace safe." You whisper into his hair. He doesn't seem to hear you, still too tore up to take in everything around him. You pull up your bedroom in your mind's eye and prepare to make that leap with him in tow. You wrap your arms tight around him and fling the both of you towards that vision, leaving the mess of his hive behind in a flash of green light.


End file.
